


A Cure I Know

by melturheadaches



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: (aka vaguely based off of Rocketman), M/M, Rocketman AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 09:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melturheadaches/pseuds/melturheadaches
Summary: "Real love's hard to come by. So you find a way to cope without it."





	A Cure I Know

June 15, 1970

Ryan watched the record executive closely, looking for any sign of interest or excitement while Brendon played their tenth song of the meeting. He had to like them, he’d been listening to Brendon play for half an hour. 

The executive, Mr. Morris, looked at his watch. “Oh shit, it’s four?” he asked, interrupting Brendon in the middle of a verse.

Ryan looked up nervously at the clock on the wall, which sure enough, read four o’clock. “Yes sir,” he said. 

“Well, I have to go. Good luck, boys.”

Brendon twisted around on the piano bench to face Mr. Valdez. “Are you gonna call us?” he asked.

The exec smiled. “Probably not. But good luck.”

Brendon frowned, his face taking on an expression Ryan knew all too well. He braced himself for the explosion to come. Brendon got up from the piano bench, the anger growing on his face. “So you just spent the last half hour wasting our time?” 

The executive remained collected, though his smile turned into a look of disgust. “Last time I checked, you two came in here by yourselves and played your songs for me. So if anything, it’s my time wasted.”

Brendon scoffed, “Your time? You’re getting paid who knows how much an hour to sit here and get songs played to you! We’re the ones who’re gonna have to sleep in a shitty studio apartment tonight while you’re up in your mansion!”

“Do I need to call security, kid?”

Ryan shot up and grabbed Brendon’s arm. The last thing they needed was to get hauled out of MGM by some fake cops. “It’s fine sir, we’re leaving now.”

However, Brendon wasn’t finished. As Ryan dragged him out into the hall, he continued half-shouting, “You don't deserve us anyway! Fuck-“ 

The sound of the office door slamming shut muffled Brendon’s last word. He stopped yelling but was still obviously ruffled as Ryan continued pulling him by the arm down the hall. 

“I played half our damn songs for that guy, and he sends us out like we’re nothing!” he ranted, “God, these label guys are such jerks, Ry!”

“I know Bren,” Ryan responded. He was primarily focused on getting out of the building as soon as possible, and anything he said to Brendon was mainly made up to pacify him. He stopped at an intersection between halls. Which way had they come up? He crossed his fingers and took a right while Brendon continued to ramble. 

“It’s just so ridiculous! People trying to make it in this industry get thrown around like they’re nothing! It’s inhumane!”

Ryan nodded, spotting the elevator and rushing towards it. Thank God, he thought, dragging Brendon through the door and pressing the button to close the elevator. 

“We can’t let them treat us like this!” 

Ryan finally let go of his iron grip on Brendon. “You’re so right,” he said, thinking about literally everything but what Brendon was saying. 

Brendon turned to Ryan. “Are you even listening to me?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“To be honest? No.”

Brendon sighed, beginning to calm down. “Thanks for being honest, I guess.”

“No problem.” The elevator doors slid open and they stepped out into the lobby of the building. A young receptionist waved at them as they left, Brendon now moping more than marching. 

“So I guess we’re definitely not gonna get called back now,” he said. They were outside the building now, on the street corner.

Ryan looked at Brendon. “Yeah, something makes me think we won’t.”

“I need a fucking cigarette,” Brendon said, digging around in his pockets for a lighter and whipping a smoke out of his shoe.

Ryan raised an eyebrow in disgust. “You are absolutely disgusting.” 

Brendon shrugged, lighting up and taking a few drags.

“Does keeping it in your shoe add a nice foot taste? A fungal earthy note?” Ryan taunted. Brendon snorted. He had been keeping his smokes in his shoe for almost as long as they’d known each other, but Ryan still found new ways to bully Brendon over it. Ryan kept his cigarettes in a patent leather case his dad had given him back in Las Vegas. He thought this was a lot more refined, not to mention hygienic, than keeping it in his shoe. 

The pair started walking down the street, not yet totally sure of where they were going. Brendon pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “We still have one label to hit today,” he said, the hope restored in his voice. 

“You sure you want to do another one? After what just happened?” 

Brendon waved him off, “I’ll be fine.” He glanced down at the paper again. “It’s Epic Records. 9830 Wilshire.”

Ryan pulled his roadmap out of his satchel, unfolding it. Brendon had marked all the locations that morning, and Epic didn’t look too far away. “I think we could walk this,” he said, tracing the route with his finger. 

“Let’s go, then!” Brendon cheered. He was back to his normal exuberant self. The pair started off down the street, following the map like a pair of tourists. 

“You sounded really good on the songs that time,” Ryan said, “He totally should’ve signed us.”

“You think so?” Brendon asked.

“Obviously.”

They kept walking, Ryan running navigation and Brendon talking almost nonstop. “I think we should start with Young Veins, right?” Brendon asked.

Ryan shrugged, “It’s your show, I’m just along for the ride.” 

“Don’t say that, Ry. You’re gonna get royalties too.” Brendon was always the optimist, believing they were going to be famous one day. Ryan believed it too, but less wholeheartedly. He had a backup plan. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come work at my dad’s shop with me?” Ryan asked, “In case this doesn’t work out?” He’d been asking Brendon this almost every day since they’d started coming to labels, getting rejected. 

Brendon rolled his eyes, “You’re so sweet, but you know I’m gonna stay out here until I die. Rock star or not.” He threw his hands up and turned to the sky, “I love LA!” 

Ryan shook his head and softly laughed, “You’re insane.” He worried a little for Brendon, especially if they didn’t get a deal as they planned. Brendon hasn’t been to college, and he didn’t know anyone in LA. Worst case scenario, he could end up homeless. 

As they walked, Ryan started to notice that they weren’t getting to the label quite as quickly as he’d like. Ideally, they’d get there by four forty-five, but it was almost four forty and they were only halfway there. 

“Hey, Brendon?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if we’re gonna get there in time.”

Brendon looked back at Ryan, eyes wide. “What do you mean?” he asked, “We have to make it.”

“We have a mile to walk in five minutes, we’re not gonna make it,” Ryan replied, “It’s physically impossible.” 

“We have to make it,” Brendon said. Ryan could see the cogs turning in his head as he figured out a plan of action. “We’ll run!” Brendon shouted, and took off ahead of Ryan, jogging down the street. 

Ryan kept walking, unsure of what to do. “I am not gonna run!” he shouted. 

“Alright, have fun being a nobody!” Brendon shouted back.

“You don’t even know where you’re going!” 

Brendon shrugged, turning back to Ryan, “Guess I’ll get lost and die!” He kept jogging. Ryan looked ahead at Brendon, and then down at his own boots, which weren’t exactly running shoes, and then at his watch. It was almost four forty-five, and most execs would leave the office by five. Even if they got there at five, it was unlikely that anyone would listen to them. He broke out into a jog.

“Wait up, Brendon!” he called. 

Brendon turned, smiling as he saw Ryan catching up to him. “I knew you’d come around,” he said. He was already breaking into a sweat, with tiny beads forming on his forehead and his upper lip. 

“You better get us this damn deal,” Ryan replied through gritted teeth. 

“You know it, Ry.” They continued to run, mostly silent. Ryan’s feet started hurting almost immediately. He definitely wasn’t made to run. Brendon, meanwhile, was running like a champ. Sure he was a little sweaty, but compared to the way Ryan looked and felt like he was about to die, he looked like an Olympian. 

Ten minutes later, they finally arrived at the label. It was a nondescript building on the edge of Beverly Hills, with white stucco walls and very few windows. As they arrived, a man was stepping out of the door, locking up.

Brendon and Ryan sprinted ahead, towards the man. “Please, sir, let us in! We need to show someone our songs!” Brendon called.

The man paused, whipping around to look at them. He had almost a look of fear on his face, which was understandable considering he had two sweaty, breathless men running towards him. “Excuse me?” he asked.

They reached the man and stumbled to a stop. Ryan bent over, trying to catch his breath, but Brendon repeated himself. “We need to play our songs. For an executive.”

“Well, I’m an executive.”

Brendon and Ryan immediately straighten up, wiping their sweat off and trying to tame their hair. “Well…” Brendon said, “Can I sing for you?”

“I don’t know about that,” the executive replied, “I should be heading home-“

“We sprinted here as fast as we could,” Brendon said, “Please.”

He studied the pair. “So you’re a duo? You sing duets?”

Brendon shook his head, “No sir, I sing and Ryan writes the songs.”

“And what’s your name?” he asked. 

“Brendon Urie.” Brendon stuck out his hand to shake the executive’s.

He took it and smiled, “I’m Pete Wentz. You guys have spirit, and I like that. I have a deal for you.”

“Like what?” Brendon asked, suspiciously.

“If you buy me dinner, I’ll listen to you.”

Brendon and Ryan glanced at each other. “Seriously?” Brendon asked. 

He shrugged. “Sure. I know a bar near here with a piano. If you two pay for dinner, I’ll hear a few songs.” 

“We’ll pay,” Ryan said, “Just lead the way.” 

The man smiled. “Sounds like a deal, then. I’m Pete Wentz, by the way.” He turned on his heels and started walking, leaving Brendon and Ryan awestruck in the evening light. Ryan turned to Brendon.

“Why did I just agree to that? He’s gonna take us somewhere expensive and bleed us dry,” he whisper-yelled. 

“Listen,” Brendon whispered back, “It’ll all be worth it when we’re rockstars, okay?”

“You boys coming?” Pete shouted, looking back at the pair.

Brendon and Ryan snapped back to Pete. “Yeah, don’t worry!” Brendon shouted back. They started walking, still whispering back and forth. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Ryan fretted, “What if he’s just using us for free dinner?” 

“Worst case scenario, we’ll be a little broker. Who cares? We could get signed tonight, Ry!” 

Ryan took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “Yeah. We’re gonna get signed.” He felt a smile creep onto his face. “We’re gonna get signed!” 

Luckily, the bar Pete chose was pretty run-down. After a short walk, they came up to the brick building with a sign reading ‘Charlie’s’ and dimly lit windows. Pete swung the door open for Brendon and Ryan, “After you.” Inside, a man tended the bar for a few patrons, and wooden tables and chairs were scattered around the rest of the room. Most importantly, a banged-up piano sat in the back corner. 

“Hey, Pete!” called the bartender. 

Pete nodded at the guy, “Hey Charlie!” Pete led Brendon and Ryan to a table near the piano. 

“You come here often?” Ryan asked. 

Pete shrugged, “Just when my wife kicks me out.” Brendon and Ryan exchanged an uncomfortable look, but Pete laughed, “Nah, I’m kidding. I’m single. But I do come here pretty often.”

Just then, the bartender came up to their table with a set of menus. “Hey guys, what can I get you to drink?” 

“My usual,” Pete replied, “And we’d like to open a tab.”

“Um… Just water,” Brendon said. 

“Me too,” Ryan added. He wondered what Pete’s ‘usual’ was, but figured he’d find out soon enough. 

As the bartender left, Pete opened his menu. “So, what kind of music do you play?” he asked, flipping through the pages. 

“Rock, mostly,” Brendon replied, “But some folk too, even a little country.”

Pete pursed his lips, nodding, “Variety, I like that,” he said. He turned his gaze to Brendon. “And you, you do all the performing, right?” 

Brendon nodded vigorously, “Yeah, everything. Ryan just writes the lyrics.” 

Pete looked back down at his menu. “Interesting…” he said to himself. Ryan felt his anxiety growing. What did that mean? 

The bartender came back to the table, carrying two glasses of water and what was likely the biggest margarita Ryan had ever seen. He set down the glass with a thud and took out a notepad. “You guys ready to order?” he asked. 

Pete smiled, looking up. “I’ll get the 14-ounce steak with a side of mashed potatoes. Well done. And bring ketchup.” Brendon and Ryan stared at Pete in shock. They’d expected Pete to spend their money, but not on a well-done steak. Especially not with ketchup.

Ryan had wanted a salad, but seeing Pete’s order, he figured he should probably cut his losses and hold off. “Nothing for me,” he replied. 

“Same,” Brendon said. 

“Alright, that’ll be right out.” The bartender left with the menus, leaving Ryan and Brendon alone with Pete, who was quickly slurping down the margarita. After a particularly long sip, he focused back on the musicians. 

“Where are you two from?” he asked. 

“Las Vegas,” Ryan and Brendon both replied in unison. They looked at each other, a little embarrassed, and then back at Pete. 

Pete smiled, “Aw, childhood friends. That’s cute. That sells records.” 

“Technically we met as teenagers,” Brendon interjected. 

Pete waved a hand, “Same difference,” and took another sip of his margarita. “So have you performed a lot? Recorded any demos?” 

“We’ve done a lot of bars, restaurants,” Brendon said, “But no demos. We don’t really have the funds for that.” 

“That’s fair, that’s fair.” Pete finished the rest of the margarita and turned back towards the bar. “Hey Charlie, get me another marg’, will ya?” he shouted. Ryan didn’t know how Pete had managed to do it, but Pete had already finished the whole glass and was getting a little tipsy. “How many songs do you have that are ready for the studio, you think?” Pete asked. 

Ryan and Brendon looked at each other. “Ten?” Ryan asked.

Brendon nodded, “Fifteen, maybe,” he said to Pete. 

Pete smiled and nodded as the bartender set down his second margarita and his steak in front of him. He threw up his hands, “Well, play me your best!” He took a gulp of the margarita and started cutting at the steak. 

Brendon and Ryan got up from the table, sharing a nervous look. “I’ll start with Young Veins, right? And then follow up with Mad As Rabbits, maybe?” Brendon asked, whispering. 

Ryan nodded, “Yeah. And then do whatever. He’ll probably be blacked out by then anyway.” They glanced back at Pete, who was wolfing down his steak in between sips of margarita. “You’re gonna blow his mind,” Ryan said. 

“Thanks, Ry.” Brendon sat down at the piano bench, resting his hands on the keys. Ryan hurried back to the table, eager but nervous to watch Pete’s reaction to their songs. As soon as Ryan sat down, Brendon launched into the first song. As soon as he heard Brendon’s voice, Pete’s jaw dropped, a forkful of steak frozen halfway to his mouth. 

“Damn!” he said, briefly turning to Ryan, “He’s got some cords!”

Ryan nodded, smiling, “He sure does, man.” 

Pete and Ryan continued to watch Brendon play, Pete quickly recovering from his initial astonishment and continuing to slurp down his margarita. After Brendon finished the final song, Pete clapped. “Damn kid!” he cheered “You can sing!” He turned to Ryan, “And you can write, too, kid.” Ryan smiled, blushing a little bit. The label executives rarely complimented his writing, only Brendon’s singing. “Alright, play another one!” Pete ordered. 

Brendon played Mad As Rabbits, which Pete also loved. Over the course of the night, Brendon played all 15 of their finished songs, almost all of which Pete loved. At the end of it all, Brendon came back to the table and sat down. By this point, Pete had managed to drink his second and third margaritas, and the steak was long gone. 

“I’ve gotta admit,” Pete slurred, “You two are pretty damn amazing.” Ryan and Brendon listened with anticipation, hoping they would finally hear the words they’d been waiting for. Pete continued, “But I think you know how drunk I am right now. And I know that I’d probably get fired if I signed anyone in this state. But I think you guys should come to the office tomorrow, you know, let me sleep on it, I might sign you.”

“Really?” Brendon asked, excitedly. He still had some sweat on his brow from playing. 

“Sure!” Pete replied, “Just come around ten or eleven, I dunno. I’ll be there. I work there!” 

After paying for the meal, Brendon and Ryan led Pete outside and called him a cab. Pete had insisted that he could walk home, but there was no way in hell they were going to let him go home alone in his state. 

As soon as the taxi was around the corner, Brendon and Ryan jumped into a hug. “We fucking did it!” Brendon shouted, laughing and completely exhausted from his day. 

Ryan pulled away, his face growing more serious, “We don’t know that for sure yet.”

“He loved us! There’s no way he won’t sign us!” Brendon’s gleeful smile shone in the light on the streetlamp. Ryan couldn’t help but smile too, despite the fact that he didn’t totally share in Brendon’s optimism. 

“We should call a cab. Do you have any cash left?” Ryan asked, feeling around in his pockets for anything.

Brendon’s eyes grew wide. “I spent the last of it on dinner,” he said. 

Ryan ran his hand through his hair, “Oh fuck…” he groaned. His feet could not take another beating like they had that afternoon. Not to mention, he and Brendon were completely broke. 

“Hey,” Brendon put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, “Tomorrow we’re gonna be rockstars.” 

Ryan smiled dryly, beginning to walk the direction of home, “If you say so.” 

June 16, 1970

Brendon and Ryan stood outside of Pete Wentz’s office, nervously hovering in front of the frosted glass door. They’d arrived there about five minutes before, but both were too nervous to go inside. 

Neither man had slept well the night before, nervousness and excitement had kept them tossing and turning in their shared queen bed (they couldn’t afford to buy an extra bed after moving). After a sparse breakfast that morning of dry cereal and the trek back to the office, the receptionist had sent them up to Pete’s office. From there, they’d sat at the door, agonizing over whether or not they should enter. 

“We really need to go in,” Ryan whispered.

“I know,” Brendon fretted, “but what if he says no?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “He’s gonna say no whether we go in now or in five minutes. We just need to take it-”

As Ryan spoke, the door swung open, revealing Pete. “You realize I can see your shadows through the door, right?” he asked. 

Brendon and Ryan looked at their feet in embarrassment. “Sorry,” Brendon said. 

“It’s fine,” Pete laughed, “Just get in here, make yourselves comfortable.” He gestured at two leather chairs sitting in front of his desk. While Brendon and Ryan sat there, he plopped down into an office chair behind his desk, propping his feet up in front of him. “So, I’ve done a lot of thinking today,” he said, “I hope you understand that I had a very difficult decision on my hands.”

“We do,” Ryan said. The more Pete spoke, the more nervous Ryan felt. Was he preparing them for rejection?

Pete continued, a serious expression on his face. “Then I hope you’ll understand why I chose what I chose.” Ryan and Brendon stared at him, eyes wide. Pete spoke slowly. “I have decided… that the label… will…” He broke into a smile, snorting out a laugh. “Oh my god, you guys should see the looks on your faces! I’m kidding, you’re signed.” 

Brendon gasped. He and Ryan leaped up from their seats, hugging each other. “We did it, Bren!” Ryan cheered. 

“Okay, sit down,” Pete said, “We gotta talk shop now.” Brendon and Ryan got back into their chairs, still almost shaking with excitement. “We’re signing you tentatively. So we need a demo as soon as possible, and if that goes well we’ll go ahead with a full album. How does that sound?” 

Ryan and Brendon looked at each other. Brendon nodded. “I think we can do that,” Ryan said, turning back to Pete. 

Pete smiled. “Awesome. I also pulled some strings and got you guys a night at the Troubadour next week.” 

“Really?” Brendon asked, “The actual Troubadour?” 

“Yep,” Pete said, “The real thing. Next Monday. You guys.” 

Brendon and Ryan looked back at each other, seeing the excitement in each other’s eyes. It was finally happening. They were signed.


End file.
